"Dhugo," came the disembodied voice that Dhugo only partially recognised as his brother's. Time in the pit of the never ending dark had lost all meaning and the only way Dhugo could chart its passing was by noticing how Boyn's voice seemed to change when he intermittently whispered. Dhugo was never quite awake in the darkness, nor was he asleep. He drifted between a state of semi awareness and a sensation of complete entropy, and in the former of those two states he had come to sense his surroundings. He lay on cold, flat, polished stone which seemed to be riven with innumerable minute grooves and markings. His fingers gradually explored the hard surface beneath him each time he emerged from nothingness. Nearby was water, what sounded like a vast and still lake that gently lapped against dark stone.

"Dhugo," came Boyn's voice again as a whisper that seemed to echo around a vast cavern, "...wake up, you have to wake up now.'

"I'm awake Boyn," he mumbled.

"No you aren't Dhugo, you've been asleep for a long time," replied Boyn, "...you need to wake up or they'll kill you."

"I don't understand Boyn, where are you? I don't know what to do."

Normally, this sort of pleading and pitifulness on Dhugo's part would have seen the famously short tempered Boyn snap and grab him by the ear or another body part in frustration. In the silence and the dark Dhugo's present fear and dread made the threat of filial peevishness redundant and whatever had happened to Boyn in Harenis at the hands of the Burning Man seemed to have brought about a signal change in  his approach to his younger brother. Instead of inflicting pain on him, Boyn spoke.

"When did you last feel cold? You should be cold now."

"I don't know, I don't really feel much at all."

"You're asleep Boyn, that's why."

***

The Treganugkh, the battered old twin mast ship that had braved the wilds of the Greater Arc Sea for the past two and a half weeks, caught sight of the Mordikhaani shoreline just after dawn. The ship's captain, a short toothless man with a thick black beard shouted to his passengers in panic as soon as the thin strip of land on the horizon was spotted. The absence of a walking, talking, breathing child of the past few days had begun to raise the stress levels of any crew member who actually knew what their cargo was and who specifically was interested in Dhugo. Handing over a comatose, or, as the captain suspected, dead boy to the welcoming party on the beach would yield instant punishment with the kind of inventive sadism that the Crag encouraged in all its minions. 

In response to his call the two Mordikhaani who had been commissioned with the task by the Resident of Harenis of escorting Dhugo to his new prison across the seas climbed onto the rolling deck. Through the mists and spray they saw the familiar coastline too, and quickly drew the same conclusions as the captain. Their time was up.

Gyl Derron and Ortis Calan, two  men chosen for their ability to obey basic instructions and carry them out without question, had spent the last ten days poking and prodding Dhugo in the vain hope that he would awaken. Gyl had given some thought to burning his flesh with a lit candle to see if that might rouse the boy. Both men by day ten had considered throwing Dhugo over the side and concocting a lie that would implicate the Resident, suggesting that there never was any boy and it was an elaborate ruse by the Crag's man in Harenis. Both were terrible liars, lacking the basic intellect to convincingly tell such an elaborate story. On balance they thought it better to face the wrath of which ever Mordikhaani Lord awaited them on the north shores of the Greater Arc Sea; there was always a slim chance that they could appeal to some sliver of humanity or pity. As the ship cut through the waves and a long shale beach emerged on the horizon that chance looked slim indeed. Ortis, the slightly more tactical thinker of the two had hoped for a low key reception, the kind that Mordikhaan specialised in, with a couple of notables and their retainers. No such luck.

A small army appeared to be camped on the beach, hundreds of men, horses and raised banners, along with tents and pavilions. The captain looked nervously at Gyl and Ortis, knowing already that dropping anchor a safe distance from the shore and allowing his passengers to row themselves ashore was his preferred strategy. 

***

"Boyn," whispered Dhugo, "I can't leave here, I don't know how," he called again into the dark expanse of wherever he was. Boyn had momentarily gone again and the echo of Dhugo's voice carried throughout the gloom. He curled his knees to his chest and attempted to trace his thoughts back to the last moment of true consciousness he could recall. He remembered Dreya and Zan, he remembered too the man who had come for them, Khariel. He remembered vaguely running across Harenis, not quite sure what Khariel had done to make Lord Valis so angry. He remembered too the Burning Man at the dockside and in his parents house. Then there was nothing, only the darkness he was trapped in now.

"This isn't a trap," came Boyn's voice eventually, "It's a choice. You're here because you want to be Dhugo and that's why you don't wake up."

Dhugo didn't answer, not knowing quite what to say to such and accusation. There was nothing about his present circumstances he would have chosen and didn't remember consciously opting to enter the dark empty place he inhabited. 

"He did this...." Dhugo countered feebly "...the Burning Man did this, made this. I was looking for you Boyn, I wanted to find you and then he came again and took me too. What does he want? Why did he take us here?"

"I can hide from him, most of the time," said Boyn "...he comes here, I don't know why. I don't think he ever wanted us Dhugo, this was all a mistake. Everything that happened was a terrible mistake."

"You said someone would hurt me, kill me. Who?"

A long pause from Boyn did nothing to reassure Dhugo.

"There are men, they took you a long way from home, sometimes I can see the other place you are, sometimes I can be there too, they can't see me though. Someone really wants you Dhugo, thinks you're important, but you need to wake up. You're no good to them if they think you're dying."

"I don't know how to wake up Boyn, I don't, I can't get back to the world. Don't let them get me Boyn, please don't let them get me."

The silence was longer this time, indicating that once again, Dhugo was alone.

****

Gyl and Ortis carefully lifted the comatose Dhugo from the chest his sleeping body had been placed in and wrapped him in an old blanket. They carried him on to the deck and precariously eased him over the side of the ship and down a rope ladder to a small row boat that danced on the choppy waves below. Dhugo's skin, pale and cold, contrasted with his dark hair  and the dark shadows under his eyes. His head lolled back and then slumped forward as Gyl rowed and Ortis propped him up. 

Ortis held a hand axe under his cloak, determined to take a few of his fellow Mordikhanni with him in the highly likely scenario that things turned ugly on the beach. As they drew close to the shore, the hiss of the tide on shale was drowned out by the din of an army encampment. Both men jumped out in the shallows and dragged the boat and its precious cargo onto the pebbles, splashing clumsily through the surf. Facing them as they disembarked were hundreds of Mordikhaani soldiers, not the standard riff raff in battered mismatching armour that patrolled the coast, far from it. 

Gyl, little more than a common thief and smuggler from the Southern Arc Coast looked ominously at the polished armour, steel helms and shields, trying to see an insignia or sigil. Nothing, these were not the men of any lord, they were hers. Straight from the Crag, from a master that needed no sigil, not emblem. He looked up at the empty crimson banners that blew in the breeze and in the midst of his fears, a grain of possibility emerged. She had sent an entire army of her best men to escort this boy to her, signifying that he was not simply important to her, but of incalculable value. It was always in these situations that being scum paid off, effectively being too unimportant to waste a sword blow on had saved Gyl's life in Mordikhaan at least once. Time to drop off the boy and scurry away.

Caston Cleargh, stepped through the rows of spear carrying men who stood to attention on the beach, a wintery smile on his face. The word that had come from Harenis, through the most hidden and secret means had been bad; The repulsive little man he had sent from the Tooth, up by the the borders of the Black Republics had brought about an unimaginable disaster on the docks of Harenis and the anticipated flow of young, educated Harenians making their way back to Mordikhaan failed to materialise. Word from the Resident that something truly special had been captured instead, a witness to a great phenomenon, a man of shadow and fire, restored his fortunes rapidly. She had spoken to Caston, personally. In the days that it took him to recover from the experience where he shook, shuddered, vomited and wept, he sent word as instructed to the Silent Legion, her own personal troops. For some reason she wanted a show of strength and power and he was happy to command them. Despite the external appearance of a cunning and ruthless lieutenant, Caston Cleargh's vanity and posturing were a key part of his character; riding at the head of an army of the Khul's elite soldiers would perhaps be the highest point of his life serving the Lady of the Crag. 

He looked down at the boy they placed on the shale.

"He doesn't wake?" asked Caston Cleargh calmly.

"No, no my lord he doesn't" said Ortis.

"No matter, he will. She will see to it," he shrugged. The two couriers looked down at the pebble beach underfoot and turned to leave. Caston Cleargh gestured to two soldiers to pick up the boy and take him to his tent, and then spied Gyl and Ortis departing.

"Wait, where are you going?" he asked breezily.

"My lord, you have no further need of us?" said Gyl, nervously.

"I always have further need, stand where you are," he snapped.

The two men stood, rooted to the spot, realising that hundreds of pairs of eyes were now upon them.

"You're to go back, there's something that needs to be taken care of in Harenis." He waved to the a figure waiting amongst the men of the Silent Legion. The huge figure of Cormagh Cleargh pushed through the troops to his brother's side.

"That man, the one we sent, the one who, so I'm told has now killed the Resident in Harenis and earned our lady's eternal wrath....what was his name?"

"Golver, he was called Golver," muttered Cormagh.

"Yes," smiled Caston, "Yes that's him, we never let them get away you know, not ever. Time to go and make things right back over there in Harenis," he said to Gyl.

"You're in luck, my brother here has asked to personally go and bring his head back in a sack. He's very determined."